


Touching the Fabric

by Apphia_Rotho



Series: More Than Are Dreamt Of [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types
Genre: Body Horror, Breaking the Fourth Wall, Eldritch Abomination Hannibal, Eldritch Hannibal, Gen, Horror, Lovecraftian, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Psychological Torture, Tags May Change, The Fourth Wall Will Not Protect You, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-17
Updated: 2015-10-31
Packaged: 2018-03-31 00:01:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3956833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Apphia_Rotho/pseuds/Apphia_Rotho
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is something off about the man. He is too still when you look at him, moving too much when he's at the corners of your vision. He carries the impression of size, he feels much more massive than his human frame should imply. There are dark flashes in his eyes. </p><p>You can feel something wrapping physically around your brain the longer you are near him. The voice you speak to yourself with in your mind changes, whispering incredible things...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Smooth as Silk

**Author's Note:**

> Hello readers! 
> 
> This is just going to be a place where I drop explorations of Hannibal Lecter, if he were an eldritch creature beyond human comprehension. Be prepared for super dark things and horrible, horrible things happening to people. 
> 
> Please, please read at your own risk. Mind the tags, they will be updated as chapters are added.

The uptown bar had been crowded and the man counted himself lucky that he managed to pull a woman like this. Shapely, a perfect rack, the deepest green eyes he's ever seen, and _a voice_ like a siren. The hook-up didn't take long, the woman practically crawling in his lap to whisper sultry acts and begging to go back to her place. One of the easiest pulls he's ever managed-and on a Thursday night no less.

Her place wasn't far from the bar-four blocks of mild groping and giggling building up to what was promising to be a fun, several hour romp in some swanky apartment. The wind had picked up during the walk, the woman pressing close to his side and slipping her hands under his shirt to keep them warm. Returning the favor earned him laughs and one quick and dirty kiss, right there on the sidewalk. The building she ended up bringing him into was older, a place he didn't remember being in this area of town. The stairs up were cracked and concrete and the door squeaked on its hinges. It didn't fit in that well with the nicer, better lit places it was next to but he wasn't a man to judge a girl.

The woman has him by the hand, whispering about upstairs neighbors getting mad about the door as she leads you down. She gives the man some excuse about a cheap basement place and damn, is she right. The walls look like some homeless loon lived there before she moved in-writing and weird symbols everywhere. There's even shit on the ceiling; shapes and weird words he's never seen before, stuff he is pretty sure he'd never be able to pronounce. The man is pretty sure there's mold in one corner, turning the carpet an ugly greeny black in the corner of his eye.

Luckily she doesn't let him stay long in the first room. Her bedroom is sparse, only a mattress in the middle of the floor and more weird shit written on every surface. The man can feel his back getting tense, something not right about this whole thing. He checks his pockets for his wallet-still there. Phone next-still there, keys-right where he left them. The woman sits him down on the mattress and gets right down into things. Her mouth is everywhere and his shirt is off before he can really figure out what she's doing with her hands. It gets back to being pretty fantastic in seconds and he starts to think that maybe the stuff on the walls isn't what's important here.

It takes him a minute to notice she's still got her clothes on-right around the time she's worked his pants down to his ankles. He tells her to slow down a second-he hasn't touched her since she sat him down but, she just grins and slips one perfect hand into his underwear. He forgets why he wanted her to slow down about twenty seconds later when she wraps her beautiful lips around his dick and that siren voice moans around him. The mattress isn't covered and the springs dig into his back when he lays back to just enjoy what she's doing.

The springs aren't distracting enough though, once the woman decides to kick things up a notch. She changes tactics, doing something with her tongue on the underside of his dick and his balls. The man sighs and closes his eyes. She's mumbling something about how perfect he is, how great his body is, the usual sweet-nothings women use to stroke egos as well as dicks during sex. Hearing "he'll be so proud of me" gives him pause though. He opens his eyes, unaware that he'd even closed them.

She's not touching him any more. The woman with green eyes is on the other side of the room, at the door. The sensation of her mouth, her hands, her weight on the mattress doesn't stop even though his eyes are telling his brain that she's nowhere near him. She notices he's looking around and slams the door, clicking the lock. The words and things on the walls are moving and his eyes dart around trying to figure out where they're going. There's something lighting up the room, making them easy to trace, but he can't find the source.

The man tries to sit up but a hand that isn't there presses down on his chest. He finds he can't move his hands or his legs. His body relaxes against his will. His mind is screaming, panicking and scrambling to escape. His heart beats loudly, but steadily, in his ears. Suddenly, somehow, orgasm starts rolling up on him and he arches his back. The woman is screaming somewhere through the door, words he can't understand. The room feels like it is shrinking and expanding at once around him as his orgasm shakes him to his core.

The panic in his mind, behind his eyes, suddenly stops. He feels his body screaming and it takes a few moments for his brain and his mind to catch up to why. Pain, agony, burning and wet, race through his body. He can hear cracking, his chest feels heavy and he can't breathe. His body and his mind reconnect for a brief moment and he can understand what is happening around him. He can't see-he blinks and can feel tears on his face and something wet coming out of his mouth, but there is _nothing_ there to see. A great, horrible _nothing_ that breaks every rib in his chest as his heart is lifted out.

A voice, _his own voice_ , speaks in his mind-a full and coherent thought that doesn't belong to him yet does.

**"Hannibal Lecter, I am become."**

The woman opens the door when the wind stops howling inside the room and the light stops seeping out from under the door. The markings all over the basement apartment are gone, having crawled around the floor and walls and ceiling through the door and into the room. The mattress is soaked in blood, and its splatters all over the walls drip heavily to the edges of the room. There is a pool of it seeping out from under the springs, grossly hot. The man's clothes are reduced to threads scattered around the room, though his wallet, keys, and phone are laid out on the floor neatly. Order in chaos.

The man is standing on the mattress. His eyes have gone from brown to red. His skin has darkened slightly, containing the portal within the blood flowing underneath. She steps forward tentatively then falls to her knees once she's close enough. The man steps off the mattress, slow and deliberate movements to move forward. He gives the girl a light pat on the head. She can feel something crawling into her skin where his hand touched her-his voice whispers into her thoughts.

The man leaves the room. The wallet, keys, and phone disappear. The mattress begins to sag, falling into the pool of blood. The girl with green eyes falls onto her side.

Hannibal Lecter _lives._


	2. Weaving the Cotton Threads

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He leads you down. I am behind you. There is a man on the table and a set of blades on the tray.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: if you're prone to overactive imagination or panic inducing writing, please read with caution and take a break when advised.

The room around you is unremarkable. There's a comfy chair, there's wooden paneling on the walls, there's a door, and there's me. I'm just as unremarkable as everything else-just a presence to guide you. The weaver of the words on the screen. Don't be afraid, none of this is real. Its just you, me, and this room. And now, there is Hannibal.

He looks as you always envisioned him, ever since you heard of him. The plaid suit, a smartly knotted tie, and his hands in his pockets. He regards you with intelligent eyes then smiles sedately. "I'm glad you were able to come."

"No problem," You tell him. And it isn't. Being here is simple, listening to him is simple. So far, its all been simple.

"Come, it is time that I show you why you're here." He tells you. Hannibal leads the way to the door and opens it. There are stairs that lead down behind them and he starts descending without looking back. You follow him. I trail behind with a sigh.

The stairs seem to go down forever and there isn't a light to show you how far you go. Somehow, it is dark but not blindingly so. You can barely make out Hannibal just a few sets down from you. Your legs keep walking, the stairs feel limitless, and the walls around you don't seem to have depth-you could reach out to touch them and encounter nothing. Hannibal doesn't seem to notice.

When the stairs finally end, minutes (hours?) later, they drop into a very plain room. Grey, concrete walls and floor. Plastic drop sheets hang from the ceiling. The floor slants just slightly from all the walls down to a drain in the center. In the middle of the room is a gurney and a wheeled tray. There's a man strapped to the gurney, naked. He's very pale and shaking with fear. He's pissed himself at some point before you arrived and the smell wrinkles your nose when you step up to his side. The man's breathing hitches and shakes, he's nearing the point of hyperventilation. 

Hannibal comes to stand across from you. The wheeled tray is next to you, and you find an assortment of sharp instruments on it. Scalpels of varying sizes, a gutting knife, forceps, clamps, sharply pointed metal rods. They look like they were taken from a surgery suite. Hannibal's eyes follow your hand as you pick up a medium sized scalpel. He nods once when you look up at him, approving.

The man on the table is shaking hard, hard enough to make the table he lays on tremble. Behind you, I am watching. For the first time, you question what is happening. You have a scalpel in your hand, Hannibal is waiting, and the man's eyes are very wide. The thing in Hannibal's skin is pleased. You wonder how you knew that there was something wearing a human skin in the first place.

You raise your hand and the man's flesh parts like a warm butter does for a hot knife. He screams, loudly, and blood wells up immediately after the edge of the surgical knife. The scream startles you, you flinch, your hand twitches and the cut is imperfect at the bottom. Hannibal tuts, a soft click of his tongue against his teeth. "Try again. Carefully now."

You do as commanded. Your hand slides through the air and the man's torso unravels. He screams, begs, cries, and pisses himself again. The smell is awful. Tears stream down his face and he thrashes against his restraints, though there is no way he will be free. You press down harder with the scalpel and cut through muscle-even nicking organs underneath. The smell gets worse. 

"He'll bleed out at this rate, you've cut his intestines. It will be painful for him." Hannibal tells you. Something creeps up your spine. Hannibal is _looking_ at _you_. Yes, _at you_. Something crawls behind you. When you turn to look for it I stand as I have been, observing the entire process. There is nothing else for a moment. When you turn back, the man is still screaming. Hannibal is still looking at you, waiting.

You drop your scalpel back onto the tray and pick up the gutting knife. It seems to flash in your hand. You see yourself reflected in it.

"Oh God, please stop stop stop, please, no no, stop, no more-" You ignore the rest of the man's pathetic begging and dig the knife in. He screams, moans, and tries to thrash again out of the way. Hannibal tuts again because you hesitated.

"Please just stop, stop reading, please God-" Wait. You focus and look back. Stop reading? 

"Please just stop, stop here, God please!"

You look at the knife in the man's body-situated just between his stomach and intestines and ready to tear. You look at Hannibal and his charming, winning half-grin. You look over your shoulder at me and my indifference. You realize what is happening. I raise one eyebrow at you and speak for the first time.

"You should take a break here."

You do not stop reading. You continue because you must, you're-

"Curious after all-curious as to what the ending will be. And my dear behind you has done an excellent job of entrapping your attention." Hannibal finishes. You stumble back from the table and the screaming man. His screams get louder and plastic sheets over the walls move in an invisible and unfelt breeze. 

"No more!" You say. "I don't want to read this anymore! I want to read this!"

It's all gone. 

You are in an unremarkable room. There's a comfy chair, wood paneled walls, no door, and me. I'm unremarkable too. Just the weaver of the words on this page. 

And it's over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I struggled _a lot_ with this chapter, its hard trying to write in 2nd person without ruining what you want to do. I probably spent three weeks rewriting this over and over again. And I feel like this came out waaaay more pretentious than I intended. Sorry if that's not your cup of tea. I hope you enjoy it though!


	3. Knit one, Pearl two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Its Halloween, and the fabric is thinning-just for a moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Halloween!

Sometimes, if he stretches outside the mortal veil he wears, he can feel the fragile threads around him strain and part just the slightest bit. If he goes further, he can feel parts of himself slip between them and back out, into the spaces he comes from. He leaks out if he stretches any further, leaks out and away back to where he came from. Sadly, this is the only time he doesn't feel confined in the human skin. Should any mortal look upon that skin when he does this, they would surely burn their retinas for the sight would be far beyond them, glorious and horrible and as empty as the sun's concept.

October 31st rarely ever coincides with the few hours of the Earth's rotation, tilt, and slide through space and time that all of reality truly thins. For just a brief moment in time, this one silly American holiday has managed to cover a very crucial instant for Hannibal. The threads that hold the precious fabric of reality spread apart-thinning the whole but staying strong. And Hannibal can truly _stretch himself_ without blinding and destroying. He can reach, pop, relax, pull and tug at every part of himself that has gone stiff being curled inside the shell he puppets. He curls so tightly, so controlled, that cramps easily form.

When these few scant moments come, Hannibal stretches and yawns and cracks his true flesh. Then, he stays out for a time, and watches. People come and go around him on the street-none the wiser to the ancient God that walks among them. They look at him say amusingly ignorant things. "Nice costume!" "Wow, how did you make tentacles like that??" "How much time did that take you?" 

And, sometimes, they scream in fear when they realize that the things hovering in the air around him are very real. Those moments, he smiles underneath the skin and carefully slides forward. He touches those few who are right to fear him and they come to learn, in their nightmares, that he isn't truly the thing that should be feared. He can't touch too many humans, unfortunately. Long before he's had his fill of fun with them, the threads start to tighten back up and come together. Hannibal will stretch one last time then slowly curl back in. He will look like a costume, a mask, and when the night is done he will be what he appears to be.

When the night is done, he will start to cramp and stiffen. He will long for a night like this again, a few hours to roll his joints. But he will wait. He is, if nothing else, patient.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote this while tending to the door and trick-or-treaters. Dogs barking and enjoying their own spooky treats, lots of fun this year.


End file.
